Hello Again, My Friend
by mattsloved1
Summary: John held the frame out and said, "I don't think this is useless." Taking it, Sherlock's eyes softened before he forced them back to their normal blankness. "It's just an old photo."
This has not been Britpicked or betaed.

* * *

Entering the flat, John saw a box sitting on the table in the living room and Sherlock sitting in his chair.

"Do we have a case?" John asked as he took off his coat, throwing it over the arm of the sofa.

"No, my parents are in town. It seems they are clearing out the attic and found some things they thought I would want. I'm certain it's all worthless."

Putting a hand on the box, John asked, "Do you mind?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, "Fine."

John began to remove items and placed them on the table. It seemed to be full of old school work and entry level chemistry books. Nothing that would interest Sherlock now, he would have stored it all in his Mind Palace long ago. As he took out the last set of papers, John could feel something heavier hidden among them.

A moment later, he stared at a framed photo of a young Sherlock. A black eye patch covered his right eye and a wooden sword lay on the ground. He wore a large smile and was leaning into an Irish setter. Turning the picture over, John read the words _Sherlock aged 6 with Redbeard_.

He held the frame out and said, "I don't think this is useless."

Taking it, Sherlock's eyes softened before he forced them back to blankness. "It's just an old photo."

Ignoring the words, John noticed how Sherlock carefully held it. One rebellious finger stroked the glass covering the dog. Silent, John walked to his own chair and sat down. He looked toward the empty fireplace and took a breath.

"While you were in the hospital, after I learned the truth about Mary, I heard you whisper something in your sleep one night. I didn't know what it meant and afterwards so much happened I forgot, but now I know. It was his name."

Surprised, Sherlock looked up, thinking.

"Did the two of you go on all sorts of pirate adventures?"

Sherlock thought a bit more before answering.

"My parents got him just after Mycroft turned seven. Even then he wasn't one for physical activity, more interested in his books. When I came along three years later, Redbeard decided to transfer his affections to me. He followed me everywhere, slept on my bed each night, met me when I came home from school."

"Sounds like he loved you a lot," John said, smiling.

Looking down at the photo, Sherlock whispered, "Yes, I think he did."

"What happened?"

Sherlock met John's eyes.

"Nothing dramatic, he grew old. When I was eleven, my parents said it was time to let him go. I remember throwing a terrible tantrum, yelling that I hated them and running off to my room. Redbeard was there, lying in his bed, he hadn't been able to jump on mine for over a year. He just looked at me. After a while, I knew they were right and that I couldn't be selfish."

Needing to be closer, John moved to sit on the floor next to Sherlock's legs. He laid his head against one knee while his left palm rested against the other.

"I went with my parents when they took him the next morning, rubbed his head as he slipped away, helped my mother get rid of all of his things scattered around the house while my father buried him. Just before bed, I went to give him fresh water as always. When I saw the empty spot, I remembered. My mother held me as I burst into tears. After a few days of crying when I looked at where he and his things were supposed to be, I decided Mycroft was right about caring and locked Redbeard away."

John squeezed his knee. "I guess we both know how wrong your brother can be about important things."

Sherlock wiped away a stray tear and smiled. "Yes, I suppose sentiment has its place."

"Thank God," John agreed, tilting back his head to grin. His voiced softened, "I'm glad your parents found the photo."

The flat was quiet, both men lost in their thoughts until Sherlock said; "I am too."

He leaned down to placed a kiss on John's head, stood and made his way to their bedroom, John following as always. Stopping by his bedside table, Sherlock looked at the empty space.

"Looks good there," John said, drawing Sherlock into a tight hug.

Content in the warm embrace Sherlock smiled, thankful to once again have someone who loved him so entirely.

* * *

I felt the need to write this after losing my 15 1/2 year old cat last Friday.

Besides being Sherlock's dog when he was young and residing in his mind palace now, I've used Redbeard as I needed.


End file.
